élan
by wreckofherheart
Summary: Only very few times is Natasha willing to yield –– something Peggy is especially attentive to. [Natasha/Peggy]
**author's note** : Someone, a while ago, requested a Peggy/Natasha story. And then this happened.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Assassins are hardened by steel. Death weighs a tonne on their shoulders, and they carry the burden day and night. It doesn't take long to grow accustomed to the weight: death isn't so scary after a while.

Natasha was not chosen at random. The best and most supreme of her kind, it was only natural she would rise in the ranks. Her entire life has been her mission, to follow orders, and to please a nobody. And then her entire life became about figuring out _herself_ , what loyalty means, why living is actually something quite beautiful.

Life is about learning how to stay on one's feet, how to survive a fall.

And when it is okay to _break_ a little.

The chair _creaks_ when Natasha's tightens her grip around the wood, pressing the heels of her feet into the floorboard while Director Carter teases between her thighs.

Hunger is scorching below Natasha's abdomen, desperate to be satisfied. She is shaking, gasping for breath, and can barely maintain her focus while Director Carter skilfully allows her fingers to brush over her clit. This is all a taunt, of course, but, _Christ_ , does the Director do it well. Natasha moans impatiently and looks down at Director Carter kneeling before her. This is becoming unbearable.

Natasha has stripped herself from the waist down, and her chest heaves with each ragged breath. The assassin has endured torture before. Quite frankly, she's not sure which is worse, because the Director still hasn't _touched_ her. Not the type of touching which sends Natasha into a shuddering heat of ecstasy.

Desperate, Natasha digs her nails into the chair and internally curses at the Director.

'You poor girl,' Peggy is smirking. Natasha wants to glare at her, but she's too busy trying to coat her impatience. 'This is what you get when you express such an arrogant manner towards me.' Natasha lets out a snort. Then suddenly gasps out loud when Peggy moves in, barely touching her with the tip of her tongue. Peggy is sniggering to herself and Natasha wants nothing more than to grab her and just _shove her mouth where it needs to be_.

Natasha swallows. 'Do you truly believe this is wise, Carter? _Mocking_ me?'

This earns her a cheerful laugh. Director Carter refuses to accept intimidation, especially from Natasha. 'Darling.' Peggy runs her hands down Natasha's thighs, to which Natasha responds, heat rising in her cheeks. The pulsing sensation is getting worse. She feels swollen and hot, and this is _not_ okay. 'I thought you were the scheming one. How on earth do you successfully manage your _duties_ when you're making such a fuss?'

Wrong.

Because Natasha _refuses_ to consider the fact she could _ever_ let her guard down. _Yes_ , perhaps she can be a _little_ impatient, but she has every right to be in this situation. However, when on the field, Natasha is magnificent. She has stealth like no other, and she is simply unbeatable.

Not even Gods could make her tremble.

… except this irritatingly fetching, gorgeous and empowered woman who Natasha is supposed to take _orders_ from?

Kicking her legs out, Natasha brings up her thighs over Peggy's shoulders, demanding and flustered. Peggy looks up at her in mild surprise, her large brown eyes daring and amused. As much as Natasha wishes to deny it, she'll never have enough of this woman.

'Do not doubt my dexterity: I always get what I want.' She pulls Peggy closer. 'And I never ––' Peggy's fingers dance across her thighs, and start to travel further, '––leave––' Peggy kisses her sweetly. Natasha tenses, '––empty handed.'

'Mm,' Peggy murmurs, 'You're very sure of yourself. Careful: I'd hate for your confidence to bite back at you.'

Before Natasha can retort, Peggy finally–– _finally_ ––leans in, pressing her mouth between Natasha's thighs. Natasha jerks, one hand flying for the back of Peggy's head, pushing her closer. But Peggy isn't so easily won over. Her tongue flicks over Natasha's clit for a few seconds, slow and wonderful, but immediately retreats.

 _Now_ Natasha can glare. If not at Peggy, then at the ceiling. She's gripping so hard onto the chair, Peggy wonders if it might actually break. Giggling, she straightens and kisses Natasha's lips. Natasha exhales, tasting herself, and it makes her heart race a mile a minute. How much she wishes she could hate Peggy.

'I don't think it's _my_ confidence which is at stake here.'

Peggy smiles against her lips. And Natasha falls in love with her joy.

'Really, my dear?' She slowly descends back onto her knees, and spreads Natasha's legs a little wider. Natasha's eyes flutter shut when Peggy presses her palm over her warmth, 'You can be the judge of that.' Her mouth returns to her clit, harder, faster, taking Natasha completely. The Russian assassin exclaims, knocking her head back, and letting herself _go_.

Only very few times is Natasha willing to yield –– something Peggy is especially attentive to.


End file.
